She stared at the light for hours
as if the orange and yellow reflection
had an electric potion that could
clear up the film surrounding
her vision the way Vicks
breathes through the sinuses.
But no answer came.
“I must’ve asked this question
over a million times,” she said to herself.
“And the answer never comes.”
“You’re doomed,” said the voice
from the gray window to her right.
“Aren’t you tired of fighting it?” said
the fishermen in their yellow slickers
drowning smothered by white capped waves.
“Will anyone ever pull me from
the bottom of this cliff?” she asked.
“I would,” said the echoes of an exhausted Greek fool.
“But you’d only just tumble down again.”